


this state i'm living in

by bytheinco_nstantmoon



Series: december [1]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Bobby | Trevor Wilson Defense Squad, Bobby | Trevor Wilson-centric, Getting Together, Good times, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Pining, Polyamory, Self-Esteem Issues, Sickfic, Smoking, Suicidal Ideation, and half raysbe, but briefly - Freeform, i listened to mr loverman while writing this, idiots to lovers, if bobby wilson no hurt..... how fic??, is there a tag for bobby being an absolute moron or, it's bc im sick, me trying to remember what i myself wrote, the best combo, they're in LOVE your honour, this is half me projecting, why is this so short... ow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bytheinco_nstantmoon/pseuds/bytheinco_nstantmoon
Summary: "The lights of the city felt like scalpels to his head, scraping down on him where he sat crumpled, tossed away like nothing- but he really was nothing, wasn’t he? Because he was still at the starting point. Because when he was eight, he ran away and drowned in the rain, and now he was eighteen, still running, still drowning, just in his own mind and memories and messed up lungs."-or; Bobby gets sick. That's normal. It's just that Bobby doesn't really see the point in getting better.
Relationships: Bobby | Trevor Wilson/Ray Molina/Rose
Series: december [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019866
Comments: 24
Kudos: 78





	1. choking

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wondering what the fuckthis is....................... yes same. me too. it was meant to be a oneshot but it hates me SO much and i am so tired so hey. fuck it. two shot (:

It wasn't that bad. It was just a little cough, at first. His breath kept getting tripped up randomly, and he'd start coughing, and he'd cough and cough until his throat was cracking with dry strain, and his voice would fade out for a few minutes after, but that was fine. That just happened around this time of year. Early winter always hit him hard. It was probably the smokes, but he was  _ easily stressed,  _ okay? Nicotine was- it was good for his health, if he lied to himself. Even if it gave him this damn cough.

It wasn't that bad, he told himself, and he kept breathing until it hitched again. It was just a cough.

Except then it was just a cough that had his vision blurring out, and then it was just a cough that had his legs shaking underneath him, and then it was just a cough that made his head ricochet with pain each time he moved it and made his bones feel like they were splintering under his skin and brought on a constant chill that crawled over his skin. Then it was just a cough that woke up him up at four in the morning, clawing at his own throat because he was  _ drowning, drowning, he couldn’t breathe- _

So maybe it wasn’t just a cough anymore.

He couldn’t sleep. Everytime he laid down, his lungs flattened themselves, and his breaths got shallow and raspy and he got dizzy, but why was he dizzy, he was lying down, and the pressure of his empty chest would claw and pound at the inside of his throat until he bolted upright again. He was so fucking tired, but he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t breathe. Smoking made it worse, but he smoked anyway, because at least if he was burning his lips raw with paper and tar he could pretend that was why his every breath stuttered in the middle.

See, Bobby got sick easy. He hadn’t always, he didn’t think; he didn’t remember anything hitting him too bad when he was real little. But when he was eight or something fragile like that, he’d gone running out the back door, down the back streets, all the way to the part of town that resented him. His dad had found him a few days later, but it was a rainy few days, and he’d spent almost a month bedridden from it. Something about that changed his body. Left an impression. Made it so that he got sick easy.

Sometimes, he thought it might have been a sign, even way back then, that he was always stuck at starting points. He’d never escape any misery. Even way back then, he could only make it worse.

He tried not to think about it too much.

Anyway, it was the turning of winter, and Bobby got sick easy, so he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t sleep and he was slumped against the wall on some street he couldn’t remember the name of, because he couldn’t go home like this. He’d meant to, had come stumbling out of work with his feet pointed towards the apartment, his bones already aching for the warmth of his bed, but came to a standstill, because he couldn’t go home. Rose was already worried enough. Not that she needed to be- he was alright. Better than ever, really. He hadn’t cried himself to sleep in nearly a week. Then again, he hadn’t really slept in nearly a week- now that he thought of it, that could be helping to make this damn cough worse- but that wasn’t the point.

He didn’t really know what the point was, except that Rose was worried and he was tired and he couldn’t formulate thoughts very well when he was shaking where he stood. He shifted a little and was overcome with a sudden, rushing wave of dizziness, his vision giving way to grey static as he stumbled, sinking down before he could help it. His back scraped painfully against the brick. “Ow,” he mumbled, but it didn’t really come out very well- his lips weren’t moving right. He blinked hard. The lights of the city felt like scalpels to his head, scraping down on him where he sat crumpled, tossed away like nothing- but he really  _ was  _ nothing, wasn’t he? Because he was still at the starting point. Because when he was eight, he ran away and drowned in the rain, and now he was eighteen, still running, still drowning, just in his own mind and memories and messed up lungs.

He dug a cigarette out and fumbled for his lighter. It took a few tries- his fingers were trembling and his vision kept splitting like some kind of damn mitosis- but he managed to spark it and take a long, punishing drag. The smoke scalded his throat from the inside out. Maybe he could set himself on fire. Maybe he could crumble to ashes right here on this street corner and never have to hate himself for not going home again.

It was delaying the inevitable, he knew; he’d have to go back at some point, or else starve on the street, but he wasn’t sure he  _ could  _ walk home, even if he wanted to. Just thinking of standing made his stomach turn. He took a drag off the cigarette instead. At least that just made his breath hitch up. His throat seized closed, and he dissolved into coughing, shaking with it, hunched over his own knees in the middle of L.A. Every hack ripped at his throat, tearing it up from the inside and sending a raspy, burning pain echoing through his head.

The fit faded off, but Bobby stayed there, curled in on himself and wheezing harshly. His cigarette had fallen to the pavement, he noticed, but his perception felt dim. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Jesus.” It was the first word he’d said in a while. His voice was nearly gone.

“That’s one word for it.”

Shit.

Bobby let his head drop a little lower, groaning. “Go away,” he grumbled. There was a short tsking noise, and a shoulder pressed against his, their knees knocking together. “No, that doesn’t-”

“Stop talking,” Ray interrupted. “You sound terrible.” Bobby scowled at the ground. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Ray hummed. His foot gently nudged against Bobby’s. “I don’t believe you.” It was Ray, and it was always a little better when it was Ray- fuck, but he was so good. Losing his band had been like losing himself, had been an open door into the strangled spiral that dragged him onto this corner in the first place, but Ray made it so harder to fall. Ray made him want to climb back out. Ray made him feel like maybe he could make it past the starting point this time. 

Ray gave him hope. Hope made his stomach turn.

“I said fuck off,” he snapped. “I’m fucking fine.”

“Yeah, clearly.”

A bitter kind of rage swelled in Bobby’s stomach. “You really don’t know how to leave well enough alone, huh?” he spat, finally raising his head. The hollowness that had been garnering at the base of his throat expanded, choking him like cotton, turning his words into glass on his tongue. “Jesus, I knew you were annoying, but can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t need your  _ help,  _ and I don’t need your  _ pity,  _ and I don’t need  _ you.  _ I just need to be left the fuck alone.” Ray looked taken aback, but he didn’t move. He just stayed right there and stared at Bobby with big, wide eyes, and somehow that was so much worse than him walking away. “I mean it. I don’t need-” his words cracked into another coughing fit. He jolted with it, crumbling straight into Ray’s side. He curled in over himself as his breath shattered, shaking, shuddering, feeling an arm settle around him. “Go- away-” he managed.

But Ray stayed. Ray always stayed.

He kept his arm around Bobby’s shoulders until he went still. Bobby hated the comfort it brought him. “You need help,” Ray said. His voice wasn’t as steady as before, but it didn’t sound angry. Just shaking a little bit. Maybe he was cold too. “Come on, Bobby. Just let me take you home.”

“Fuck off,” Bobby mumbled. He couldn’t find the strength in his muscles to move his head from where it had lolled into the crook of Ray’s neck, though.

Ray rubbed his arm. “Let me take you home,” he repeated pleadingly. “Just… just back to Rose’s apartment, and then I’ll leave you be. Is that okay?”

Bobby clutched onto his shirt. “Can’t.” He pressed his face further into Ray’s shoulder, trying to breathe without crying. He wanted to cry so bad. “Can’t tell Rose. She’ll be mad.”

“She’s not gonna be mad,” Ray said. He didn’t sound as certain as usual. His voice was shaking harder.  _ “Please,  _ Bobby. Please let me help you. She won’t be mad, and I’ll leave you alone, but let me get you home first. Please.” His voice broke on the last word. It sent a chill down Bobby’s spine. Ray wasn’t meant to sound like that. Ray was strong and smart and certain, even if he was sweet and soft and smelled like home; Ray wasn’t meant to shake. Not like Bobby. Ray was so much better.

So much fucking  _ better. _

He hated the flash of bitterness that ran through his bones, but it faded as soon as it came anyway, unable to sustain itself on hollow exhaustion. Of course Ray was better than him. Wasn’t everyone? God, wasn’t  _ everyone? _

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stop Ray from pulling him up either.

.

.

“Oh, honey-”

Ray allowed Rose to pull Bobby out of his arms. He stumbled into hers, blinking hazily. “R’se?” he asked. The word came out cracked and clumsy through his chapped lips. Rose raised a hand to his face, cupping it gently. Her thumb rubbed back and forth. “Ang’l,” he mumbled. A little frown of confusion creased between her brows. “You’re… ang’l,” he tried to explain. “Soft.”

Rose’s face turned tender, her eyes going so wide and earnest that Bobby’s slipped closed, unable to handle the full force of her gaze. “That’s sweet, but I think you need to get some sleep,” she replied.

“No!” Bobby jerked back. Ray’s hands caught his shoulders, and he had a moment of stability leaning against his chest. “No sleep,” he insisted. Rose exchanged a look with Ray. Bobby couldn’t read it completely- was she annoyed? Confused? Concerned?

Ray’s voice came softly, brushing into Bobby’s ear. “Why don’t you want to sleep?” he asked. His voice was gentle. It sent a jolt through Bobby’s stomach all the same. His mouth felt dry. Ray rubbed at his shoulders. “You’re sick,” he added, his voice arching up in concern.

“‘S just a cough,” Bobby mumbled.

“You sound like hell.”

“Yeah, well-” he struggled with his words. “Your  _ face  _ is hell.”

It was the kind of friendly teasing they always had, the jabs they’d toss back and forth without a thought. Now, though, Ray didn’t reply. He just patted Bobby’s shoulder once and then gently pushed him back into Rose’s arms. Bobby must sound worse than he thought. Still, the rejection hurt. He leaned into Rose gratefully.

She glanced at Ray with wrinkled brows, but looped an arm around Bobby’s waist. After a moment, she refocused on him. “Hey there,  _ cariño,”  _ she murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. What’s wrong with sleep? You look tired.”

Something in Bobby’s chest crumpled under the concern in her eyes, and he melted into her a little bit more. “Sc’red,” he answered. He scrunched his nose up. “Can’ breathe.”

“You can’t breathe?” she repeated. Behind him, he heard Ray draw in a sharp breath.

Bobby sniffed. “Can’ breathe when I lay down,” he whispered, his voice breaking. His fight had crumbled out of his chest, but it had carved a hole in its path, and now here he was, vulnerable and trembling and on the edge of tears in Rose’s arms. “‘M so  _ tired,”  _ he whined. It was barely a whine, though- it was barely a sound. “Jus’- I jus’ wanna  _ sleep,  _ ‘m so  _ tired-” _

“Hey, hey,” Ray interrupted. His voice was deeper than usual, punched through with a rawness that Bobby rarely heard from him. “Breathe,  _ mi mariposa.” _

“That’s my nickname,” Rose mumbled.

Ray shushed her. “You can have it back later. It’s Bobby’s right now.”

Rose pouted for a moment, but then she glanced up at Bobby and it melted away into something softer. “Okay, fine. As long as I get it back later.”

Hands landed gently on Bobby’s shoulders again, Ray slotting into place behind him to complete their little group. His chin hooked over his own fingers, looking down at Rose with a smile.  _ “Te quiero,”  _ he murmured.

Rose’s arms tightened around Bobby’s waist.  _ “Te quiero,”  _ she replied, sounding amused. “But-” she leaned up on her toes for a moment, and-

Well, Bobby wasn’t quite sure  _ what  _ noise he made, but it was something low and strangled that came unbidden, swelling up from the sudden heat through his stomach as Rose and Ray kissed over his shoulder. He felt himself flush, but Rose just patted his side as she pulled away and took him by the hand.

“Come with me,” she said, and in that moment, with her half-sad smile and her eyes shining, the warmth from Ray’s hands soaking from his shoulders into his soul, Bobby was quite certain he would follow her anywhere.

In reality, he only followed her to the bedroom, where he made a keening noise and went to twist away. “Bobby,” Rose said sternly. Her grip on his hand tightened. “Stay,  _ idiota.  _ I’m not going to make you lay down.” Bobby stopped pulling, but he kept staring at her with suspicion. She rolled her eyes. “Ray.” She said something in Spanish that was too rapidfire for Bobby’s addled brain to follow, and he was still blinking when Ray scooped him up into his arms.

Bobby let out a very undignified squeak, clinging to his friend’s shirt. “Ray!” His voice was frail, but the exclamation made Rose laugh anyway. Ray just smiled. It was an echo of his usual grin, though, the one that set Bobby’s stomach aflame, the one that warmed the whole world in just a moment, the one that made a world after sunset worth living in. Bobby’s throat crawled with something dark.  _ I love you,  _ he wanted to say, but instead he said, “I’m not going to sleep,” and pretended that was good enough.

Ray’s face still flickered with that strange inversion of happiness for a moment, but it faded in a cocky smirk, one eyebrow quirking. “Not with that attitude you’re not,” he replied. Bobby blinked.

“Wait, wh-”

_ “Ray, do not-  _ okay. Well.” Rose sighed, pinching her nose, as Ray settled on the bed, which was still shaking from his running jump onto it. Bobby made a strangled noise, clutching at Ray with his shaking hands and staring up at him. “Well, would you look at that. You’ve traumatised him,” Rose reprimanded. She leaned in and kissed the top of Bobby’s head.

He wrinkled his nose, looking over at her. “I already had trauma.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Ray snickered slightly and rearranged them so that they were leaning up against the pillows. One of his arms snaked out from Bobby and wrapped around Rose, pulling her in tight. “Missed you,” he whispered. She rolled her eyes. She was smiling, though. Bobby hid his face in Ray’s chest. “You good?” He answered with a whine. “Alright.”

Rose put a hand on his knee, squeezing just enough to make his heart thrill. “Sleep,” she said softly. “We’ll stay with you. Just sleep.”

Bobby’s entire body ached, but he nodded slowly, pressing himself further into Ray’s chest.  _ “Los quiero,”  _ he mumbled.

_ “Te quiero,  _ Bobby,” Rose replied, and Ray said nothing at all.


	2. orbital patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Except that wasn’t quite right. That wasn’t the whole picture. The sun and the stars weren’t each other’s complement. Each of them was in tandem with something greater. There were more than two parts to the symphony. Each of them belonged, in part, to the sky.  
> -  
> or; Bobby wakes up, and maybe he wishes he didn't, and maybe everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i upped the chapter count,,, fuck off (im kidding)
> 
> this is like. incredibly bleak but also kind of tender?? maybe im just too mentally ill to know what tenderness is......... who could say. also TW for suicidal ideation and that kind of thinking throughout the chapter.

Bobby woke once when the world was dark, soaked in a despair that ran through his bones like a second blood. He was still nestled against Ray’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat thrumming solidly in his ear. Rose had shifted. She was now draped almost entirely over his side, her legs thrown over his, practically in his lap. He let out a soft purring noise without intending to, snuggling further into his little nest of comfort.

Ray’s voice broke out through the silence of the bedroom. It was quiet, though. It sounded like he was talking to himself. “Are you happy?” There was a pause, and a hand stroking Bobby’s back, and then a short, bitter laugh that choked his heart. “I hope you are,” Ray said, and then he didn’t say anything else. The ghost of a kiss brushed over Bobby’s temple.

Bobby fell asleep listening to Ray’s heartbeat and woke up listening to Rose’s humming. He shifted his head to the side, looking at her- she was bathed in early morning sunlight, the soft gold of it lighting her up. God, but she was impeccable. “Morning,” he greeted. His voice was still hoarse and strained, but she just smiled. It was faint with something darker. A wave of anxiety crested in his chest. “Where’s Ray?”

Rose fiddled with the covers. “He went out,” she replied softly.

“Oh.” Bobby swallowed, trying to force down the feeling of  _ wrongwrongwrong  _ in his throat. “Where’d he go?”

It took her a moment to reply, but when she did, the feeling swelled up again, bitter and punishing and determined to choke him. “I don’t know.”

Bobby pulled his knees up to his chest. “Oh,” he said again, and then went silent. So did Rose. They just stayed there, sitting in bed together, existing in the morning together. Her shoulder was pressed against his, but it didn’t feel as comforting when Ray’s arm wasn’t around him, pulling him in tight. Did it have to do with last night? The words echoed in his head.  _ Are you happy? I hope you are.  _ They tasted like acid on his tongue.

“I love him,” Rose said, very suddenly.

“I know.”

She examined him closely, as if he might say something else, but Bobby wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. Of course she loved him. He was Ray, and she was Rose; they were carved from the same stone, built from the same dirt, born from the same stardust. She loved him like she loved the air she breathed. He loved her like he loved the rising and setting of the sun. They depended on each other, lived on each other, thrived and grew and healed for each other, and spent every day molding themselves just a little closer, just a little tighter, just a little more fitted into each other’s souls. They were each other’s comfort, each other’s consolation, each other’s home. They were a melody that rivalled the greatest compositions. They were in a complete, constant, consistent kind of love, the kind that never faltered, the kind that never crumpled. It was mesmerizing. It was angelic. It was the most intensely human kind of love that could exist, the kind that gave and took in equal measure and left them both the happier for it. Ray and Rose were a collaboration. God, of course she loved him. How could she be herself if she didn’t?

He reached over and touched her knee. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He wouldn’t leave you for long,” he promised. The sincerity of it was somewhat broken by his immediate coughing fit, though. Rose’s hands fluttered, like she might reach out, but he just waved her off, still hunched over, every muscle shuddering with the effort of not crumbling into dust.

_ “Dios mio, mi mariposa,”  _ Rose breathed once he’d quieted. “You’re falling apart.”

He tried for a crooked kind of smile. “I thought that was Ray’s nickname for us,” he answered, trying to dodge the concern in her voice.

It didn’t work. Her brows creased further. “You’re precious to both of us.” Bobby blinked hard, turning away as he stood on shaky legs. “What are you-  _ Bobby.”  _ He ignored her, heaving the window open and pulling out a cigarette. The smoke billowed out in the early morning air. “You really want to sleep in a room that smells like cigarette smoke?” she asked, her voice pinched.

Bobby scoffed. “This isn't my room.” It was more bitter than he thought it might be, but the bitterness tasted more familiar than he expected. It tasted strangely intimate for something he didn’t recognise.

“Isn’t it?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He took another drag of his cigarette instead.

“Bobby.”

He glanced over at her. She was tangled up in the covers, staring at him with those bright, steely eyes, and he missed Ray so goddamn much. He didn’t want lazy mornings with Rose if Ray wasn’t willing to stay through the night with them. It was wrong. It wasn’t complete, not the way Rose and Ray were. Bobby wasn’t even half the man Ray was, didn’t mean half as much to Rose as Ray did, couldn’t make a sunrise half as beautiful as Ray could. If Ray was sky, Bobby was her stars; always there, but not always seen, not always important. He wasn’t all-encompassing to her world. He was just something she liked to see sometimes.

Look at them. What a trio.

Rose; the sun. The brilliant, nourishing light, the gold that kept their hearts thrumming, the beginning and the ending of it all. Steady. Comforting. The burst of familiarity he couldn’t help but surrender to.

Ray; the sky. The consistent cover, the safety. The steadfast protection, the unending dependability, the utter constant in their turbulence. The most compelling home Bobby had ever felt. The overarching beauty of their world.

Bobby; the stars. The fading light, exploding and imploding and scorching itself out, born to die and dying to let something else be born. The stars could never shine as bright as the sun, but they lived in awe of it anyway; the stars needed the sky to hold them through their burning, all the way to their inevitable end; the stars lived to die.

The three of them in tandem, in harmony, existing in time with each other. A rhythm of comfort kept them breathing each other in, breathing each other out, creating a mosaic of a thousand pieces. But Bobby was all the smallest of those pieces. Bobby didn’t leave too many gaps when he was gone. Without Ray here, though, the whole picture was broken, falling open in a dozen places, aching for him to come back. Without Ray, Bobby was nothing, and Rose had nothing to come back to. What was a sunrise without the sky?

“Bobby,” she said again, and he realised he’d been zoning out. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

He laughed exhaustedly. “When did I lie to you?”

“Not me,” she replied. Bobby looked away again. “You’re lying to yourself,  _ mi dalia. _ It hurts me.”

“Why should it hurt you?” He watched as his cigarette burned down, dancing dangerously close to his fingers.

Rose’s answer was instant. “Because I love you.” Bobby didn’t reply. “I  _ love  _ you,” she repeated, more desperately, her voice on the edge of breaking. “You’re part of me, Bobby. I love you.”

He dropped the cigarette out the window. “You’re my best friend,” he replied.

She was silent for a moment. Bobby refused to look over at her. “You know that’s not what I mean,” she finally said. It was quiet. It was plain and simple, just lying out in the open; it was every time Bobby had ever stared at her too long, every time she had held his hand, every time they had curled up together for a movie, every time she leaned on his shoulder like she did last night. It was all those small moments of complete, utter happiness, when Bobby finally felt at home, nestled in with the brightest star he could fathom.

Except that wasn’t quite right. That wasn’t the whole picture. The sun and the stars weren’t each other’s complement. Each of them was in tandem with something greater. There were more than two parts to the symphony. Each of them belonged, in part, to the sky.

“No,” Bobby said, still staring out at the L.A. skyline. “I don’t.”

.

.

Rose left him there, sitting alone in her and Ray’s bedroom, and Bobby smoked the rest of his pack before he stumbled into the shower and thought of drowning himself. The water stripped away the smoke, but the sins remained. He couldn’t wash away the bleakness of his own existence. He couldn’t ignite anything inside himself. There was nothing there.

_ You know that’s not what I mean. _

_ I love you. _

“I love you,” he said, curled up on the empty bed, staring at the wall. He didn’t know which one of them he was saying it to. He didn’t think he wanted to.

He thought, for just a minute, about opening the window again. About finding out what the wind tasted like from three stories in the air. About finding out what it felt like to lose his own bones. He thought about it, and then he stopped, because he was too tired to give up. He was too exhausted to sleep. He was living to die, but he was  _ living,  _ and wasn’t that what mattered right now? He was burning himself out, but the flames hadn’t faded yet. They didn’t need him, but he needed them, and until the sun stopped igniting him, until the sky stopped holding him, he’d cling onto them. God, he needed them.

They weren’t here, though. So Bobby just stared at the wall and thought all this, and it didn’t really matter, because what end did it come to? What did it matter if he was living or dying or loving or not? He was still just an eighteen year old in a bed that wasn’t his, drowning in his own mind and memories and messed up lungs. He was still just Bobby.

He wasn’t the stars. He was just the mistake of their fallen dust.

He traced the veins in his wrist, the astronomy that kept him alive, and wondered what it might be like, burning like that, high above the world. High above Rose and Ray and their love of ages. High above humanity. High above sin. Might it be better? Might he be better? Might he serve some kind of purpose that way? He wondered, and here he was at the starting point again, right where he’d been on the street corner last night. He’d slept and he’d loved and he’d lied, and none of it had pulled him any further out of misery. He’d only made things worse. Bobby was good at making things worse.

_ I love you. _

_ You know that’s not what I mean. _

The door creaked open. Bobby kept staring at his wrist. “Did you know,” he said, his voice lower than he expected, “That the earth orbits the sun?”

The door closed. “I did,” she answered. Her footsteps were delicate, moving carefully closer to the bed.

Bobby swallowed hard. “Did you know,” he said again, “That the earth orbits the sun?”

Rose sat beside him. “What’s the earth, Bobby?” she asked, because Rose saw things about him that nobody ever understood. Rose always knew when he was trying. Rose never pulled him out of orbit.

“Us,” he answered simply. His voice still cracked. “The three of us.” He traced his veins again. “We’re the world.” We’re my world, is what he meant. We’re everything to me.

Rose understood. She always did. “And what’s the sun?” She scooted a little closer to his side. Her hand hesitated before it laid over his, their fingers intertwining on the bedspread. Bobby swallowed hard, staring at their skin against each other. Touching Rose was something holy; touching Rose was something divine. And God, he loved her.

“You.” His voice was quiet. “It was always you.”

Rose was silent.

“Did you know,” he continued, his voice shaking, “That the sun rises and sets in the sky?”

Rose shifted closer. “I did.”

“Then did you know,” he said, and felt his ribs rattle with his next breath, “That the sun- the sun loves the sky. She rises and sets in it. For it. She lights up like nothing else.”

“Bobby-” she started, but her voice faded out. Bobby traced his thumb along the back of her hand.

His voice dropped lower. “Did you know,” he said, “That he’s the sky?”

Rose didn’t answer for a minute. The apartment rang with his words, with her unspoken answer, with the loneliness of Ray leaving them. “I do,” she finally said. “Do you?”

His answer is immediate, broken, and utterly, overwhelmingly true.  “Always.”

“Are you the moon,  _ mi amado?” _ she asked. Her voice was trembling.

“No,” Bobby said. His head fell back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m the stars.” Rose squeezed his hand tightly, her gaze heavy as it rolled over his profile. “Empty,” he explained faintly. “Just the background. Just-” his voice was shaking. “Just something nice to look at. But they need the sky to hold them. They need the sun to teach them how to shine.”

The apartment was silent for a long moment, and they just sat there, breathing in tandem, breathing in harmony, and it was okay. It was a moment of just them, and it was okay. The Earth was almost in orbit again.

Rose broke the silence. “Bobby?” He hummed, tilting his head toward her. “I’m going to marry you.”

He blinked. “You’re going to marry Ray,” he corrected, surprised it didn’t come out as more of a squeak.

She raised a hand up to his jaw, pulling his face closer to hers. “I’m going to marry you,” she repeated. “And I’ll marry him too.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Can’t I?”

And it was Rose. Couldn’t Rose do anything? Wasn’t that who Rose was? The sun, the tsunami, the endless wave; the brilliant and the fierce and the poignancy of possibility. Wasn’t Rose the monarch of the sky? Didn’t their whole world revolve around her? “I love you,” he said, and there was such an utter warmth in her eyes that he almost didn’t feel guilty. “But Ray-”

Rose pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush, baby,” she murmured. “You know he loves you, don’t you?” Bobby blinked, and the denial was on the tip of his tongue, but-

But Ray had held him so close last night. Ray had found him on the corner and led him home; Ray had rubbed his shoulders and warmed his soul and called him  _ “mi mariposa,”  _ like it was his name. Ray had stroked his back and kissed his temple in the dead of night. Ray had looked and listened each time Bobby lit himself up for them, and the stars were reflected back in his eyes, and Ray hadn’t said it back. Bobby had curled against him on this very bed and said he loved him, and Ray had said nothing at all.

Ray wanted him to be happy.

Fuck, but Ray loved him.

“I would do anything for him,” he said, and he wasn’t surprised by the truth of it. “Anything at all. I’d give him my soul and my life and my world if he asked.”

Rose’s thumb stroked his jaw gently. “He just wants you,” she replied, and Bobby can’t bring himself to be surprised by the truth of that, either.

This was a starting point. This was a sharp left turn off the road he’d walked in circles on his entire life. It would be easy, he thought, to keep going forward. To continue in the misery he’d cultivated so completely around himself. To indulge the dark corners of his soul. It’d be so easy. Just pull back. Just let her go.

But Rose was the sun, and Bobby was the stars, and he needed her to light him up; Rose was the sun, and Ray was the sky, and without them Bobby was nothing at all.

So he swallowed hard, and he swung left, and he said, “I can give him that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah!!! that's- yeah!!! please leave comment, let me know what you thought- this the first fic i've been really, truly proud of in a long time, which i did NOT expect when i impulsively started it, but yeah!! i love you all ((:


	3. chamomile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is my bed,” Bobby said.
> 
> “You’re an idiot,” Rose replied, and then she kissed his cheek.
> 
> And it wasn’t good enough. But it was good.  
> -  
> or; Bobby's never been good at getting past the starting point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm!! back!! and i am!! finishing this fic!! fuck yeah!!
> 
> i am actually in love with this so im a little sad but like. im also very happy!! i like this chapter a lot, tbh, so if you hate it please don't tell me

But Bobby could give nothing to the nothing that was there. The day waned and the night swept through, and Ray was gone; the sky awakened in the blaze of glory, but the apartment rang with only the two of them, and the glory felt like mimicry. Rose spent the morning practising, her gentle strums drifting through the cheap walls, keeping Bobby afloat as he perched on the windowsill. He was chain smoking. She’d get mad at him later.  _ Fuck it,  _ he thought, though maybe that was too grand a word- he wasn’t thinking much at all. He was just letting his mind swell with smoke until it dissipated into the empty air. It was hard to think when Ray wasn’t around to keep him rhythmic, keep him steady, keep his heart and head beating in time. It was hard to be anything but empty when Ray wasn’t around to fill his chest up with brilliant open sky.

_ Fuck it,  _ he thought, and lit another cigarette.

“Sounds nice,” he said when Rose came in. “Writing something?”

She hummed. “Maybe.” Her voice was evasive. Alright, then.

He couldn’t help but glance over as she tugged off her t-shirt. He lowered his cigarette, tilting his head as his eyes traced over her back, her shoulders, the freckles sprinkled across her skin. “You’re beautiful.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re smoking again,” she replied with a frown.

Bobby sighed and stubbed the cig out against the brick, earning an eye roll, before he dropped it and slipped back into the room. It was easy to step up to her. It felt natural, dipping his head to kiss her shoulder, her jaw, her temple, in the simplest, most reverent way he knew. “You’re beautiful,” he repeated, and let one hand linger at her hip, asking for permission.

Rose leant back into him. “You smell like smoke.”

“I can change.”

She hummed. “I suppose.”

“I can shower, too.”

“Is that an invitation?”

He grinned before he could help it. “I don’t know,” he said slyly. “Is that a yes?”

“You’re an idiot,” she replied, which wasn’t a no.

Nothing happened. Bobby wasn’t really in the mood, anyhow, and even if he had been, it felt… wrong. Unholy, sort of, though holiness held no place here; they were missing a piece, missing a connection, because the apartment rang with only the two of them and Ray wasn’t there. So Bobby kissed her collarbone and washed her shoulders, and Rose washed his hair and kissed the base of his neck, and it was good. It wasn’t good enough. But it was good.

After, they laid together on the bed. They hadn’t dried off, and the sheets were being soaked, but so what for that? It was raining anyhow, and it was their bed. It was their bed.

God. “This is my bed,” Bobby said.

“You’re an idiot,” Rose replied, and then she kissed his cheek.

And it wasn’t good enough. But it was good.

They fell asleep there, tangled up on top of the bedsheets, listening to the rain. It felt like religion and mythology and cosmic meaning, like epiphanies and soliloquies and epics; it felt like resolution and completion, and it felt like nothing at all. It was just skin against skin and her breath against his shoulder and the air against his back where there should have been the sky. It felt like everything, and it felt like nothing at all. Beautiful and bleak. Like a marble statue of a long-forgotten face; meaningless, bared, and absolutely full of love.

Bobby dreamed of dancing along the atmosphere. Holding the stars in his hands, letting them flicker like candles in his palms until they burnt themselves out. They whispered their names to him; this Luke, this Molly, this Reggie and this Patrick- this Alex, this Ethan, and this Ollie, all turning into nothing but sparks. He dreamt that the sky wrapped itself around his hands so that sparks didn’t burn him through. He dreamt that the sun cast itself over him so that he didn’t fall into darkness when the stars burnt out. He dreamt that he was safe, content, suspended in the most coveted state of the cosmos.

He woke up shivering.

Rose was still sleeping, pressed up against him. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and went to roll away. The movement made her stir. “Bobby?” she mumbled.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep, Rosie.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave,” she said, sounding suddenly frightened, and the plea tore the inside of his chest in half, rending it to bleeding. “Don’t leave. ‘S lonely.”

Bobby swallowed hard. “I’ll be right back,” he repeated. “I’m just making some tea.”

“Chamomile?”

“Chamomile,” he confirmed. “Your favorite. I’m just making tea, honey.”

Rose made a whining noise, grasping at the empty sheets between them. “Hurry,” she demanded. “Miss you.” Bobby leant over to kiss her forehead before he stood. He pulled out pants from the drawer almost blindly. They were Ray’s. He recognised the flannel. That was fitting, wasn’t it?

And that was his state- cold, yet only half-dressed, with sleep-mussed hair and Ray’s pyjamas, hollow except for his bones and the aching yearn to be wrapped up in sun and sky- as he stepped into the hall and made eye contact with Ray. They stayed like that for a moment, suspended in a long stare, each frozen to his own spot.

Bobby drew the door closed behind him as quietly as he could. “You’re home.” He spoke softly, wary of waking Rose.

Ray’s eyes fell down Bobby’s chest as steadily as the rain rolling from his temples. “Am I?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ray’s lips drew tight. “Ridiculous?” he repeated. “It’s been two days, and you’ve already taken my clothes and my spot in bed. Is it ridiculous to think you’ve taken my home, too?” Bobby flinched, his chest flaring with something defensive, but he couldn’t muster it to a reply. His words had all dried up in his throat. He just stared, unable to breathe.

“Ray-” he finally managed, a tiny choke, but Ray just shook his head. Bobby’s ribs crumbled in. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Ray gave an exhausted laugh and ran his hand through his hair, throwing water onto the floor. “Don’t be,” he replied, which somehow hurt more than bitter accusations. Acceptance was the most antagonistic response Bobby could imagine. It scalded him from the inside out. “She loves you,” Ray added, as if he hadn’t wished him happiness, as if he hadn’t held Bobby in his arms, as if he hadn’t ghosted his eyes down his frame and his lips across his forehead more times than either of them could possibly have recorded. As if he didn’t love him too.

Bobby didn’t say that. He just said, “I’m making tea,” and held out his hand. Ray hesitated for a moment before he took it.

But he took it. And it wasn’t good enough, but it was good.

He stayed at the kitchen table, watching with a heavy gaze as Bobby set the kettle on. The silence was swollen with a thousand things they hadn’t said, that they wouldn’t say. A thousand things they needed to say, and for that reason alone they wouldn’t. They never had been good at taking care of themselves. Why else would they have ended up here to begin with? They’d built this broken landscape for themselves.

Eventually, though, the silence weighed too intensely, and Bobby’s lips were burning too hot to keep closed. “Where were you?” he asked, shattering whatever glass had been stretching between them.

Ray swallowed hard. “Out,” he answered. Simple. Blunt. Fucking  _ infuriating. _

Bobby’s lips tightened. “I noticed. Out where?”

“I was at Taylor’s.” Ray’s voice was quiet.

Taylor. His girlfriend from God knows how long ago. She was pretty, and she was sweet, and they’d broken up because she couldn’t stand a single thing he did aside from what he did in bed. Taylor’s apartment was a block over. All this time, he’d been a block away? Bobby had felt empty, hollow, full of nothing except the everything of abandonment, and the remedy had been a damn block away? How could an eternity between them be shy of a mile?

“I showered with Rose,” Bobby said, because he didn’t know how else to reply.

Ray closed his eyes. He laughed, but it was broken, somehow. “Was it nice?”

“Was Taylor’s apartment nice?” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter. He couldn’t help it, though. He couldn’t swallow the envy that was jumpstarting inside his chest.

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re not fair.”

“What?”

Bobby poured a cup. “I’m in love with you,” he replied. It wasn’t as if they were getting anywhere like this, anyway. The silence returned, swelling through the kitchen like a hurricane. He poured two more mugs of tea and turned around with one in each hand. “Get the last one, will you?” he asked. Ray’s shell shocked expression didn’t fade, but he did rise to his feet. His footsteps were methodical as he crossed the kitchen. He closed in on Bobby, the space between them fading until their toes were pressed together. Bobby’s breath came hoarse as he stared up at him. Ray had always been just a little taller.

“Say it again.” His voice was low. Rough with something Bobby couldn’t quite identify.

He swallowed hard. “I’m in love with you,” he repeated. “And Rose. I love her too.”

Ray’s toes pressed a little firmer against his. “Huh,” he said, and that was all he said for a while. Bobby kept staring. It was hard to do anything else. Ray’s eyes met his, fragile under the kitchen light. “Huh,” he said again, and then, “You didn’t answer my question.” Bobby’s eyebrows wrinkled together. “The shower,” Ray clarified. “Was it nice?”

Bobby nodded. “It was good. It wasn’t- nothing  _ happened,  _ though. Didn’t, uh-” he swallowed hard, his eyes falling down to Ray’s throat. “Didn’t feel right without you,” he finished faintly.

“I missed you, too.”

Bobby’s eyes darted back up to his for just a moment before his courage failed again. “Did you…” he trailed off.

Ray took a moment to reply, but he was gentle when he did. “Of course not,  _ mi mariposa.”  _ He picked the third mug up off the counter. “Let’s go to bed,  _ si?”  _ Bobby followed him, half in a daze, unsure what exactly was happening.

Rose stirred as the bedroom door was pushed open. “Bobby?” she murmured. She looked like God, sprawled out on the empty sheets like that, her skin lit up from the light of the window. Ray set the mug he was holding down on the nightstand. Rose sat up, drawing in a breath. “Ray. Ray,  _ mi amor, estás aquí-” _

Ray beckoned Bobby over.  _ “No me estoy yendo,”  _ he said. Rose narrowed her eyes at him. “I promise.” Bobby stood somewhat awkwardly at his side until they both shifted their gazes to him. His eyes flitted between them. “Well?” Ray finally said. “Are you going to get in bed or not?”

“Oh!” Bobby flushed slightly. They both laughed under their breath. It warmed his chest up on the inside, hearing that again. He crawled into bed next to Rose, next to the woman he was going to marry, next to the sun, and kissed her forehead as Ray shrugged off his soaked shirt. Rose made a pleased noise.

Ray glanced over his shoulder. “Hello,” he said, sounding amused.

She hummed. “Hello yourself,” she replied, and then, her voice very sleepy, “Don’t put a shirt on, please.”

Bobby stifled his laugh in her hair. Ray just smiled. “Alright. Whatever you say.”

He came to bed in another pair of his flannel pajamas and draped himself against Bobby’s back, his hand reaching over to tangle in Rose’s hair. They kissed over Bobby’s shoulder, and it still made his stomach flare with the same heat as before, but the flare didn’t come in discomfort this time. He just hummed appreciatively and settled down in his spot. Ray’s hand came to rest on the small of Rose’s back, and Rose’s breath ghosted over Bobby’s shoulder, and Bobby tangled his ankles up in Ray’s, completing the circuit.

“We need to talk about this,” he said.

Rose groaned. “It’s three in the morning,” she complained. “Can’t we sleep first?”

Ray pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, and Bobby said, “Okay,” because this was good enough. The stars were burning into ash and falling from the sky, the night was cold and rainy, full of blustering wind, and they were lying together on top of the covers like a marble statue, carved as a patron to a goddess; this was the most simplistic kind of reverence, this quiet devotion, curling together as the scent of chamomile curled through the bedroom. It was three in the morning.

This wasn’t a starting point. This was halfway down a road he hadn’t even realised he’d been following. This was a piece of forever that had been lodged in his chest since he became himself. He’d grown up without realising, somewhere along the way, and now he’d come through the eclipse.

Stars weren’t born to die. Stars were born to fill the sky with brilliance, to mimic the sun in the best of its ways, to create beauty and a burning mosaic of art. Stars were born to inspire. Stars were like music, maybe. Something enduring. Something that ran like life in his blood.

Maybe he’d write them a song someday.

Bobby said, “Okay,” and it was good; it was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah!! yeah
> 
> coolio!! comment, lemme know what you thought, come yell at me on tumblr, whatever!! i love you all!! thank you so so much for reading my mess it is literally just abt the inherent pain of everyday life and the beauty of simplicity. let yourself have the things you deserve. i love you

**Author's Note:**

> yep. yeah? yes. come bully me on tumblr @bobbywilsonsupremacy
> 
> hey ren- this is for u. i simply think we deserved more raysbe whump, don't you?


End file.
